


After the Fall

by Kara_Eclipse



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Buried Alive, Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Medical Torture, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-07-20 10:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kara_Eclipse/pseuds/Kara_Eclipse
Summary: Turgon survives the Fall of Gondolin, but wakes up in enemy hands.





	1. The Capture

**Author's Note:**

> If more of this verse comes to me I will add it here, but for now it's just this piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions being buried alive and blood if either is an issue please skip it.

Feeling a lurch under his feet Turgon knew that the tower had finally given away under the pressure exerted upon it. Vaguely he remembered discussing how workers survived such things happening in Tirion and moving swiftly he flung himself back inside the building to where he could lie on the floor. The sickening sense of falling was lessened a little but as the roof and walls gave away causing other stones to crash down around him Turgon did his best to stay flat. Then there was a jolt and a wash of pain that sent him into the darkness of unconsciousness. 

Slowly, his mind hazy, Turgon woke later. His eyes found only darkness and he reached up only to stop short finding that his hand was blocked by something. Trying to shift left his side burning and he groaned in pain but resettled realizing that some of the stones had likely left some injuries. That knowledge brought his attention to his hand being wet and sticky.

He nearly laughed realizing that he survived the fall only to be buried under the stone and injured. If one did not take his life the other would. Mingling with that was the realization that no matter how many managed to escape from Gondolin more died because he’d made the choice to stay… perhaps if he’d known of Idril’s Secret Path more could have left. He had not known of it though and when at long last he was told of it he had to choose between his own life and the safety of everyone else and that was hardly a choice at all because they were his responsibility to protect.

Closing his eyes he reached out mentally to try to find anyone who might be nearby but there was nothing. Smiling Turgon shut his eyes feeling drained and cooled. Before darkness once more claimed him he spared a moment to be glad that Tuor had gotten Idril and Earendil away to safety.

There was a moment of vague awareness after that where dark voices spoke. One saying something about the ‘dark god’ wanting him taken if he survived and another saying something about wasting medicine on elves. His mouth was forced open and something was poured into it causing him to choke and retch but in the end he swallowed it and blacked out again.

The next time he woke he was in a cell with only the clothes he wore on, the half red robe and the other clothes but no armor and no weapons. Slowly he sat up and looked around realizing with a sinking feeling that the cell matched Maedhros’ descriptions of Angband right down to the chains and hooks and shackles on the wall. Rattling at the cell door drew his attention and Turgon looked to see someone standing there just inside the open door.

“Ah! It seems that you are finally awake. My Lord has been most anxious to see you. After all a King should greet his new guests personally.” The person said with a mocking smile and snapped his fingers stepping out of the way.

Two orcs entered and grabbed Turgon’s arms lifting him to his feet. Then they turned and half dragged him out of the cell. Behind him the person- likely Sauron- shut the cell and followed. He turned down a different hall but paused to call, “I do hope you enjoy your stay here at least as much as your cousin did Turucano.”

Dread filled him but Turgon said nothing in reply, not even as Sauron’s laughter followed him. The dread only got worse as he was dragged into Morgoth’s throne room. Seeing the two glowing lights of the Silmarils Turgon mentally vowed that he would die before he allowed them to corrupt his fea in some way, and hearing Morgoth’s laughter only strengthened that decision.

“Welcome Turucano, King of Gondolin and High King of the Noldor. It has been some time since last I had such a distinguished guest in my halls. I do hope you will last longer than the last one.”


	2. Physical Torture Sucks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a look at how Turgon is treated when transitioning from being tortured physically to tortured mentally, only with the mental torture he his healed physically.

Some days, or what he thought were days, Turgon felt like cursing himself and how his mind and thoughts worked. If he had been more like Maedhros, always swift to react until he was beaten down enough, this would have been over and the physical torture would have ended. Yet he didn’t instead Turgon stayed calm and allowed the cruel words to wash over him ignored.

The burning bite of whips and blades tearing into his body seldom roused more than a few mangled cries from him now. Not even the realization that by giving Melkor- not Morgoth that much he’d learned- what reactions he wanted managed to rouse more of the screams and other cries that left the Vala laughing.

Slow quiet footsteps circled him and Turgon tensed a little hearing them stop behind him. A hand touched his back sending some energy into him then nails dragged down tearing a ragged scream from him as Turgon thrashed against the ropes holding him securely. More laughter, cruel and mocking, filled the room and he shuddered hanging weakly from the harsh ropes that bound him to a metal frame in the middle of the throne room. Melkor walked around to in front of him and tilted his head up. With mocking gentleness he wiped Turgon’s cheeks.

“Shh, there, there. Soon you will be with Mairon and he will fix you again then if you behave well you can stay with him.” Melkor cooed, a malicious smile tugging at his lips as he let Turgon’s head fall forwards again.

If he’d had the energy Turgon would have imitated his cousin and spat out some crude comment or another. The energy was gone though. Everything he had to spare was used to try healing his injuries, the burns and whip lashes and the cuts and everything else that the Vala and the Maia decided to torture him with including acid and just contact with their energy in a purer form that burned him badly in all senses.

Seeing Melkor walking to his throne once more Turgon felt the sense of dread he’d felt being dragged here to this room return. If this was how Melkor handled torturing him how would Mairon this time especially since he might end out staying with him? Maedhros had once indicated that the Maia found more pleasure in chipping away at minds while restoring the bodies and if that was so then who knew what sort of tortures would be in store for him then. As though he could follow Turgon’s thoughts Melkor called a troll into the room.

“Do be so kind as to distract our guest from his impending meeting with Mairon. I am certain that he will enjoy it far more if he is given less time to dwell on it, and Mairon will certainly enjoy it far more because there won’t be any guesses about what he will do to ruin his fun.”


	3. Fallen Comerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based off the idea that Melkor created an Arena of sorts to make the captive elves fight one another for his entertainment.

Turgon walked, well limped, into the Arena. The large space that was surrounded by flames and many of Melkor’s underlings. They all watched eagerly as Turgon and his opponent were both lead into the room. High above them, above where one of Melkor’s great dragons was settled to watch the spectacle was a cage with four elven prisoners in it. Then directly opposite of that was the dark Vala himself, sprawled on a throne but watching, the silmarils set in his crown glowing and casting a silver-gold light around the room.

Melkor and Mairon must be getting tired of pitting him against weaker elves, Turgon decided adjusting his hold on Ringil. The elf across from him seemed newer to this place, not as worn down by the tortures and darkness that plagued everything else. More than that though he seemed familiar to Turgon, something that alarmed him, but seeing the terror on the faces of the elves in the small cage high above them hardened his heart against whoever it was. He would fight and slay him for them if he must.

When the fight began it became apparent that the other was indeed someone Turgon knew or one who had been extensively trained by someone he knew. Grief threatened to choke him as he dodged an easy strike from the other and his vision blurred some when he made a feint that left him open to a more severe strike.

There was a pause, hardly noticeable a pause, as Turgon waited to hear if Melkor wanted this prisoner alive. Normally he would have waited longer once he had an opening, but not this time. This time he struck killing the other in one swift neat strike. Feeling them jerk and hearing the low sound of pain as it hit he bit back the low whine that came from what he’d done.

Without thinking he caught the body and lowered it to the ground. Looking at them he recognized the eyes, and seeing the life and light fade from them hurt more than anything that Melkor and Mairon had done to him yet. Somehow he remembered that letting them know how much something like this disturbed and hurt him was a bad idea and he acted, the bright blade of Ringil slicing through the throat of his dear friend severing the head from his body.

Grabbing the head he stood and held it up for the audience to see. Then he looked up into Melkor’s furious face. A pale sliver of triumph burned through him at seeing that he had managed to free someone from the same fate he endured, and not even the knowledge that he was going to be severely punished for it could stifle that. Not the knowledge he would be punished nor the burning hands of the balrogs dragging him from the room could do it, and if he cried later well it was only he that would know exactly why even if this would haunt his mind until he died or they next spoke.


	4. Sleep Deprivation

Sleep is precious. The words never made sense to him, not then anyways. Now he understood. It was not the act of sleeping, not really. It was the escape that it offered. The all too brief respites from pain and laughter and the cruel bite of whatever seemed most pleasant to use today.

Sleep was precious because it was instants of peace and rest. Time where one could recover a little from the toll wrought on the body and mind and fëa. It seemed sensible now to cherish sleep. Not like on the ice where sleep kept you energized enough to walk. No. This was different. This was where you feel like killing for a second more of sleep, where the cruel mocking voices dragged you always back to pain and reminders of how far you fell.

He didn’t understand it then. Not when tents were a shelter from the blazing sun and certainly not when he stood within an alabaster kingdom with the gleaming towers high above. It took being dragged down, the kingdom shattered and burned, and no hope of a rescue because who he had been was dead, dead and buried or burned or maybe both. Whatever happened to that optimistic fool he was long gone in a place far from here, far from this place where sleep was killed for and laughter and pain were constant companions to the point one forgot how it was to be without them.

His eyes slipped shut and he caught a glimpse of a beautiful garden and golden hair falling around laughing blue eyes. Then pain was back, burning from his side and back leaving him breathless.

“Who said you could sleep? Get back to work! Unless you want to visit Lord Mairon again.”

Yes… he understood yet he knew now the dread of sleeping just as deeply. Sleep was to be cherished and protected, but only as long as one could stay alive.


	5. Wintry Specters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ice mentioned here is in fact the Helcaraxe and this was an attempt to torment his 'guests' more by Melkor.

The heat of the fires was nearly unbearable, but Turgon learned to endure it. It became just another form of torture, to warm so much he collapsed from it then was flogged until his back was a bloody mess, burned until he could hardly breathe, then healed before being moved back somewhere else to repeat one of the many cycles again. Heat was tolerable, but the cold… being dragged to the part of Melkor’s territories closest to the Helcaraxe, that was unbearable.

He heard their screams as the ice gave away under her and their daughter. The biting cold as he dove in after them and the numbness that formed where there had been warmth and joy. Standing there in the rags he was allowed, holding the coolly shining blade that had been his father’s, and hearing it again he swayed and nearly collapsed without anything more being done. It was the mocking of the orcs and the laughter from the one who tried to demand complete obedience that dragged him from memory to the present.

As thanks Turgon lashed out slaying the nearest orc sending black, black blood spraying across the ice. The laughter stopped as did the screams. For a moment the world was still and silent then fire blazed across his shoulders and Turgon fell to his knees where more and more lines of fire burned until he could no longer recognize her screams from his own. Once the dark one was satisfied he was dragged back to his feet then pulled forwards to the ‘special arena’ that was prepared.

Looking down once more he thought there was a flicker of golden hair below the ice. Seeing that he decided to not look down at the ice again. It was unbearable enough without ghosts of the past haunting him, and if he pushed things enough he was beaten insensible before the return journey so he could blame any such views on that well that was for him alone to know. Much like it was for him to know that he checked the bond between them with numbed terror to make sure she was safely away from the hellish existence he lived now.


	6. Dark Reunion

Turgon felt as though he was floating when he woke, the world swirling in a dizzying array of colors as at last whatever Mairon forced down his throat abated some. The bright flashes of fire stung as they passed torches in the hallway, going further than they usually did yet Turgon stayed relaxed and pliant as he was dragged into the throne room for ‘the master’s pleasure’. He blinked dazedly as his head was forced up, and his arms were secured spread apart and immobilized.

The light from the two silmarils on Melkor’s crown was nearly too bright after the mostly dark hallways and other chambers he was taken to. It took him a moment to realize that Melkor had approached him and now was tilting his head back and forth as he considered him.

“I have been trying to decide how to reward you. You have, after all, lasted for a fair length of time that which your cousin, the redhaired one, failed to endure long.” Melkor stated at last releasing his head. There was a pause as Melkor tried to think of something, and then a malicious smile spread across his face. “Ah I know the proper reward for you.”

He turned and walked away, taking the blinding yet cherished light with him as he moved. Then it was back as he sat down. With a careless wave of his hand two orcs entered carrying something between them. It was a box of some sort and only seemed to take two of them because of the size of it.

“You have been missing you kin, have you not? Your father and sister were well guarded by whoever built their tombs but I managed to find one to keep you company. Mairon was unable to do much with the remains unfortunately so you will have to make do with the state he’s in.”

The box was dropped on the ground in front of him and uncovered. Inside of it was a burned and mangled body that was unrecognizable save only the jewelry that was clinging to it. Turgon jerked against the bindings as he recognized them, though he could not say if he wanted to drop to his knees next to the box or to scramble as far away as possible. Seeing his reaction Melkor laughed and leaned back on his throne.

“Such a sweet reaction, so much more vivid than darling Maitimo’s when he believed he beheld one of his kin. Of course, you know it to be true so perhaps that is it. Now, entertain me. Then you may return to your cell with your new cellmate.”

With another wave of his hand heat filled the room and Turgon shivered. His senses were fully returned to him yet he could not manage to tear his eyes away from his nephew’s corpse tucked in it’s box. The whipping tore into his back leaving burned and bloody strips before his mind refocused on his situation. Then an agonized scream fell from his lips and he thrashed, struggling against the bonds holding him. With his struggling the whipping continued on and on until at last Turgon went limp against the chains, his eyes fixated on his nephew’s face as tears ran down his own.

“Perhaps I should have tried to capture the others of your father’s brood, it would have made for an interesting comparison.” Melkor observed as at last Turgon was freed from the restraints.

He simply fell to his knees, putting up no fight as his arms were bound with shackles and a collar was fastened around his throat. The only time he fought was when they tried to move the box out of his sight, but that was quickly ended when a container of some experiment of Mairon’s was poured over his back leaving him writing on the ground. Once sure he would not fight them Turgon was dragged back to his cell, part of the way he was dragged by the collar while the rest he stumbled along lead forwards by the chains.

In his cell he sat unmoving and unthinking as the box was set down next to the pile of hide scraps that served as his bed. Memory of Maeglin’s expression that last day in Gondolin, the way he seemed anxious and silent, drifted through his mind and Turgon finally buried his face in his hands quiet sobs shaking his shoulders and aggravating the lashes on his back.


	7. Failed Flight

The second he gave himself up during the attempt to escape Turgon knew he would suffer for it. Yet he also knew that unlike the others he would be kept alive for Melkor and Mairon to ‘play’ with. Even so, even expecting the torture to continue he was not expecting this. 

He was strapped to one of Mairon’s tables for his experiments, not that the straps were needed because of the drugs that had been shoved down his throat, a paralytic and something that sharpened sensations to agonizing extents. The fallen Maia had a vial of something, some liquid that shone a poisonous green, and was cutting into his leg with a scalpel. Carefully peeling away the skin and some of the muscles and nerves.

Finally content with how deeply he had cut the Maia dumped the contents of the vial in the open wound. Turgon tensed an agonized scream kept silent because of the paralytic yet not even that could stop the agonized tears from running down his face. Seeing the tears Mairon laughed and patted his cheek.

“There, there, you knew we would have something that we could do to keep our prize from running away again~ Though I think I have some other ideas for how to keep you from escaping so swiftly, but this will keep you nice and safe.”

Mairon left the room for a while, something Turgon only realized when he returned and held a knife, one of the wicked serrated-edged knives that the orcish war-chiefs carried. With a wide maniac smile he started cutting, slicing open the wounds that Turgon had received from the Fall and opening new ones. After several hours- minutes? time blurred too much for him to even guess- Mairon stopped and tossed the knife over his shoulder.

Before he could relax any more vials of the liquid, some acid from how it burned where it had been poured earlier, and dumped them over each cut. Soft whimpers filled the room as the pain tore through him, Mairon grinned and then grabbed a needle and thread.

“There now. This will be remembered, and you won’t be so cruel as to try to leave again. Just remember this pet, remember how this feels and remember that next time it will be worse.” Mairon spoke his voice having a sing-song tone to it as he spoke while stitching the wounds closed.

Once they were all sewn shut Turgon was unstrapped from the table. Seeing that he wasn’t even going to try getting up Mairon called for a couple of orcs to come and drag him back to his cell. As they dragged him upright Turgon moaned in pain and slumped between them.

“Oh, I do hope you like the gift we left in your cell for you. It was so hard choosing the right ones but I do believe we managed it.”

Dread filled Turgon and as he was carried back to the cell he thought over what could have been left for him. As the door opened his eyes widened with horror and anguish, Four bodies, four people he recognized, and all of them lie dead their corpses laying spread out so he could see just how badly they had been mangled and violated before they were killed.

The orcs dropped him just inside the cell and shut then locked the door but Turgon hardly noticed that. All he could see were the four bodies, four lives his attempt to escape had cost, and all he could feel was the agony and anguish from his punishment for even trying. Somehow he shuffled closer and managed to lay the bodies in a more dignified way before he curled up on the floor with tears streaking down his face.

Tomorrow he would be dragged out of his cell again, and doubtlessly expected to perform in Melkor’s twisted arena where he would have to end lives with his own hands or else he would have to watch more being killed in response to him showing mercy. Tonight he would share his cell with corpses and memories while praying that those who escaped would never get caught up in this hellish existence.


	8. "Fixing" is a Dreaded Process

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Threats of mind control and rape in this but nothing happens.

“You know the funny thing about you elves?” Mairon asked pausing to give him time to think about it. Clearly he couldn’t have answered, he was paralyzed from some sort of drug or toxin of some sort and even if he wasn’t the broken jaw he had would have kept him from speaking. “All of you assume that being violated it the worst thing that can happen to you.”

A blade of some sort was cutting away burned skin now, careful and meticulous. Something was rubbed into the exposed area sending agony tearing through him, the paralytic prevented him from screaming or crying out yet the pain was enough that soft whimpers were heard anyways. There was something else poured down his throat then and he swallowed, what happened when he didn’t was worse than just doing so.

“There are worse things than that we can do to you. Of course I am sure you have already experienced some of those. It’s astonishing how well forcing someone to kill their friend or family member works for hurting them. Of course nothing quite compares to the exquisite agony of seeing their reactions to knowing they caused someone they love to be tortured while they are relieved that it was not them.”

Another liquid poured over the exposed area this one caused him to feel like he once again was surrounded by the freezing waters that ran under the Helcaraxe, the breath in his chest was expelled in one moment and if he could have moved he would have curled up to try to regain warmth.

“Of course if you want my opinion nothing quite manages to beat the sight of someone slowly breaking down and knowing it yet being powerless to stop it. The denial and fire dying away leaving a shattered broken shell. We did that to Maitimo, you know. He fought so hard but in the end there was only jagged shards left of who he was.” 

There was sigh and a coarse cloth running over the wound stirring the fire again. A tear ran down his cheek from the pain and a fine tremor ran through his limbs.

“It was a pity that we had to keep him relatively in tact, he looked so lovely sitting there glaring at us with the fire smothered to near nonexistence.”

That was an exaggeration, and Turgon knew it but he still remembered Maedhros’ screams and please. The words of which he now understood both in meaning and what there were against. He would be screaming and fighting against this himself if he was not paralyzed somehow, but no.

“Now, that is not to say that we won’t violate you. Having you screaming as our power invades your being leaving you helpless as we use your body for whatever comes to mind. I do believe you would look amazing fighting against it as pleasure invades your mind despite yourself. Some day I will have to test that.”

Another liquid that finally seemed to wash away the fire and ice. The lack seemed to hurt even more than their presence did leaving him feeling tense as he awaited whatever was used next.

“Not now though. For now I am going to fix you so that you may continue amusing us with your struggling. Once my Lord tires of you though... then you are mine to toy with however I want.”


	9. What a Sword Means

Turgon stared up at the gleaming blade of his father’s sword as it hung across from him. The hooks piercing his arms and chains wrapped around him were painful but he could often manage to ignore them some. It was the sword that he longed for, that link to his father that was torn from his grasp any time he was not in the Arena. Once they discovered how precious the sword was to him they hung it tauntingly out of his reach.

Before that he wondered if his father would have approved of his use of it. Of how he ended broken lives of elves too lost in darkness and their own agonies with the sword. Probably, though he would have been dismayed to find out how Turgon had been punished for that, the beating that all but stripped the skin off his back and left his hands mangled messes until Mairon healed them. He ‘fixed them and all other nerves’ because apparently he didn’t scream as loudly as he used to.

Still looking at the sword reminded him of better times when he allowed his mind to wander. Times of laughter and warmth and peace. Then just as he allowed the memories to stir in his mind the cell door opened and the sword was removed from his sight and the hooks were cut from his body as the chains were unwound sending him to his hand and knees.

“Up. The Dark Master has a desire to see you in the Arena.”

The sword was back then, and Turgon took it rising to his feet. Numbly he followed now the words meaningless compared to the light of the sword, and the way it still stood for better times. Looking up from it as they reached the large chamber of the Arena he vowed to himself that one day he would take his freedom back one way or another. When he did this sword would represent light and warmth and peace to more than just him.


	10. Memories of Golden Lights

Sometimes in his darkest moments Turgon cursed them, the golden ones that danced through his memories. They had escaped and fled from the fate that had been dealt to him. He hated them in the moments where breath was agony and when his entire body felt like it was being burned from the inside out leaving him ashes to try to move with. Yet those memories spurred him onwards because he refused to give into the darkness and death until he knew where they were.

Sometimes in his weakest moments Turgon remembered the golden ones that danced through his memories. They were bright and alive always seeming to call to him. The golden one who was sent to him pulled him from a darkenss he didn’t recognize and became the golden child of his heart, doubly so when his own golden child turned to him. Yet these memories were precious and not wasted in the darkness and death that called to him.

Sometimes in his most exhausted moments Turgon remembered the golden ones that danced through his memories. They always seemed to act and dance always moving and drawing everyone else to move with them. He had lost track of how many times he had been pulled from his work by their movement and laughter. Yet these memories energized him enough to climb to his feet once more because until he could escape to them he would not let this place of darkness and death claim him.

Sometimes in his most broken moments Turgon remembered the golden ones that danced through his memories. Their light and warmth and kindness came back. The warm and nearly forgotten companionship that lit blue eyes and the light sweet laughter that whispered it was okay to fall but that he could pull himself back up. Yet these memories were most closely guarded because he knew that if this place of darkness and death destroyed them he was destroyed as well.

Sometimes… just sometimes Turgon remembered the golden ones that danced through his memories and he remembered dancing through theirs as well. He hoped that he was as much of a strength to them as they were to him. Yet these memories were cast in darkness and death before he could even find his answer.


	11. Rescued At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left this vague deliberately because I have a preference but it's nice to be able to pick if he was rescued by Arafinwe and Earendil or by Maglor and Maedhros

Silence, darkness, pain… those were his companions now. The darkness came and went, so too the silence, but not like now. The flurry of light and words that once held meaning was jarring and almost frightening but Turgon hardly cared. He didn’t really even notice that the words were becoming clearer and that some of them, all of them, were ones he recognized though he had not used any of them save in thoughts and memories for years.

Looking up when the light filled his cell he winced. It was not as bright as the jewels that always lit the Arena, but it was brighter than the darkness of mere moments ago. The voice raised and called for someone else in the lilting musical language and he thought he recognized his name in the words that followed, his actual name not whatever his captors called him.

A hand on his cheek tilted his head up some so he looked into a vaguely recognizable face then weight was put on his wrists, chained above his head though not high enough to strain his arms rather so he could not move from the wall. Everything blurred into a haze of pain and Turgon started whimpering from pain, he still hurt from the last time he was called for entertainment and the damage done to his wrists was such that most touches sent agony through him.

The hands were gone then the shackles were letting his arms fall limply to his sides. His eyes opened again and he looked up for the sword that was covered now. When they started trying to get him up he shook his head trying to bat their hands away, his eyes still fixed on the black cloth covering the sword that had been his companion for the last several years.

The person moved away and there was a quick conversation then hands reached for the sword. Once the sword was lowered it was brought to him and set in his hands. Only then did he allow them to help him up and blindly he followed them through the hallways noticing that the air was steadily getting clearer and once they left the fortress he dropped to his knees, his mind going blank. 

From there he didn’t really notice where he was lead or who was with him because it started to sink in that he was free from the existence he’d lived. Rough laughter rose and his shoulders shook with it as it sunk in more and more that he’d managed it, maybe not on his own but he had escaped from them. Once more he was free and now… now he no longer had to fight for his life and the lives of others unless he wanted to. Once he was sure they were relatively safe, he and whoever else was there, he collapsed, falling prone on the ground, with tears running down his face still laughing.

“Free… finally free….” He murmured lowly in one of the languages of Angband, which one didn’t matter, then his world darkened as everything finally got to be too much.


	12. A Happy-ish Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is likely the only chapter where Turgon/Elenwe will be mentioned so it is not going to be tagged.

Sometimes Turgon woke and forgot that he was free to move as he wished. It had been beaten into his head and body that he must remain still until he was given permission to get up or he was dragged out of his cell by a collar for a whipping. It was instinctive to wake up his body tensed and his eyes half lidded as he waited to see if he could move yet.

Not even the soft warmth of the sun on his back and the fluffy smoothness of the bedding around him changed that. Yet when he felt a slim arm curl around his shoulders and the curve of a mouth press against his neck all the tension vanished leaving Turgon dizzy but smiling a little.

Warm laughter coaxed him further from the nightmare and he turned his head to taste that smile, to savor the giggling laughter that warmed him better than even the light Arien carried. Looking in blue, blue as the clear waters of Ulmo’s domain, eyes he smiled wider and shifted to touch her cheek.

“Finally awake, melda?”

“I don’t know perhaps you should give me another kiss to make certain.” He teased, delighting in how her eyes lit with mirth at the reference to the story learned from their grandson’s grandchildren.

“Perhaps I should.” She replied and promptly did so then jumped up from the bed. “Come on, we agreed to visit Itarille and Tuor before they vanished on their trip~”

“So we did.” He agreed, not getting up.

For a moment he felt the ghost of open wounds crossing his back and the stabbing ache from his knee. Before he got too lost in the past a hand touched his cheek. Guiltily he looked away but as a kiss was pressed to his forehead he managed to meet her eyes. Seeing the warmth and love in them left him breathless, and at last he moved to get up. She pulled him to his feet and he pulled her to him in an embrace.

“Thank you, Elenwe. I have no idea what I would do without you.” He murmured honestly pressing his forehead to hers.

“You would be hopelessly lost and alone.” She teased lightly cupping his cheek. “Of course Itarille would worry and you would miss seeing her off constantly. So not much different really~”

He laughed then and did not argue against it.


	13. "Fixing" is a Dreaded Process

Threats of mind control and rape in this but nothing happens.

-

“You know the funny thing about you elves?” Mairon asked pausing to give him time to think about it. Clearly he couldn’t have answered, he was paralyzed from some sort of drug or toxin of some sort and even if he wasn’t the broken jaw he had would have kept him from speaking. “All of you assume that being violated it the worst thing that can happen to you.”

A blade of some sort was cutting away burned skin now, careful and meticulous. Something was rubbed into the exposed area sending agony tearing through him, the paralytic prevented him from screaming or crying out yet the pain was enough that soft whimpers were heard anyways. There was something else poured down his throat then and he swallowed, what happened when he didn’t was worse than just doing so.

“There are worse things than that we can do to you. Of course I am sure you have already experienced some of those. It’s astonishing how well forcing someone to kill their friend or family member works for hurting them. Of course nothing quite compares to the exquisite agony of seeing their reactions to knowing they caused someone they love to be tortured while they are relieved that it was not them.”

Another liquid poured over the exposed area this one caused him to feel like he once again was surrounded by the freezing waters that ran under the Helcaraxe, the breath in his chest was expelled in one moment and if he could have moved he would have curled up to try to regain warmth.

“Of course if you want my opinion nothing quite manages to beat the sight of someone slowly breaking down and knowing it yet being powerless to stop it. The denial and fire dying away leaving a shattered broken shell. We did that to Maitimo, you know. He fought so hard but in the end there was only jagged shards left of who he was.”

There was sigh and a coarse cloth running over the wound stirring the fire again. A tear ran down his cheek from the pain and a fine tremor ran through his limbs.

“It was a pity that we had to keep him relatively in tact, he looked so lovely sitting there glaring at us with the fire smothered to near nonexistence.”

That was an exaggeration, and Turgon knew it but he still remembered Maedhros’ screams and pleas. The words of which he now understood both in meaning and what there were against. He would be screaming and fighting against this himself if he was not paralyzed somehow, but no.

“Now, that is not to say that we won’t violate you. Having you screaming as our power invades your being leaving you helpless as we use your body for whatever comes to mind. I do believe you would look amazing fighting against it as pleasure invades your mind despite yourself. Some day I will have to test that.”

Another liquid that finally seemed to wash away the fire and ice. The lack seemed to hurt even more than their presence did leaving him feeling tense as he awaited whatever was used next.

“Not now though. For now I am going to fix you so that you may continue amusing us with your struggling. Once my Lord tires of you though… then you are mine to toy with however I want.”


	14. Repeating Trauma

Turgon is once more put in a situation where he is 'buried' alive.

-

Turgon’s breath quickened as his hands pressed against the roof above him. It was close, too close, and his breath was coming too quickly. His mind was swept into a haze of terror as he remembered falling and being buried like this.

_“I have heard that a traumatic situation being repeated in part has interesting effects on elves. Since you need to be mostly immobile I do believe that I shall test that.”_

There was a small opening where air was entering and exiting but it was at his feet and did little to soothe his mind from it’s terrified state. One of his hands moved from the roof to press against his face while Turgon tried to calm himself. It wasn’t working though and a scream was trying to escape as the pressure to breathe built.

_“I hear you were buried alive under a tower when they found you. Naturally I can hardly repeat the fall you had and the injuries because those would undo my hard work fixing you, but I can see how being buried effects you.”_

Words flashed through his mind then, bright words he had been forbidden from speaking, The words faded as he fought against speaking them and his breathing sped up more until sobs shook his shoulders. This was worse than he had expected when he had seen the stone box awaiting him. The darkness was no problem, he had grown used to the shadows and his own thoughts here. It was the closeness of the walls and the knowledge that if he tried to fight it he would hurt himself again and then if he was lucky he would only have to endure another week of being with Mairon.

_“If you want I can bring your companion from your cell. I hear that in distress families tend to draw comfort from being near one another.”_

For a moment he was grateful that he had not been stuffed in the box with the corpse of his nephew, that… that would have been too much. His breathing finally slowed down though he still shook. This was not the worst thing that happened to him, and he knew it would not be near the top of the list once all was said and done. At last the tension in his limbs relaxed then it returned suddenly even greater than before as he registered that no new air was entering the box with him.

_“Well since I can hardly replicate the injury or sensation of falling I believe that I will do something else. Do try not to scream while you are there. It upsets my other patients.”_

As the air stopped Turgon felt a chill spreading through him and felt dizzy. His mind dragging him back to having been trapped under the Tower of the King in Gondolin and for a moment his mind started to reach out but he caught himself with the reminder of possible enemies around and shielded even tighter. The shaking returned and grew worse as did the dizziness. His hand shifted back to the roof of the box then slid down along it trying to find something, some way to escape from this prison of his.


End file.
